the love affairs of a bibliomaniac-第17章
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easant verses that I don't mind letting the world see them。
MARCUS VARRO
Marcus Varro went up and down The places where old books were sold； He ransacked all the shops in town For pictures new and pictures old。 He gave the folk of earth no peace； Snooping around by day and night； He plied the trade in Rome and Greece Of an insatiate Grangerite。
‘‘Pictures！'' was evermore his cry ‘‘Pictures of old or recent date；'' And pictures only would he buy Wherewith to ‘‘extra…illustrate。'' Full many a tome of ancient type And many a manuscript he took； For nary purpose but to swipe Their pictures for some other book。
While Marcus Varro plied his fad There was not in the shops of Greece A book or pamphlet to be had That was not minus frontispiece。 Nor did he hesitate to ply His baleful practices at home； It was not possible to buy A perfect book in all of Rome！
What must the other folk have done Who； glancing o'er the books they bought； Came soon and suddenly upon The vandalism Varro wrought！ How must their cheeks have flamed with red How did their hearts with choler beat！ We can imagine what they said We can imagine； not repeat！
Where are the books that Varro made The pride of dilettante Rome With divers portraitures inlaid Swiped from so many another tome？ The worms devoured them long ago O wretched worms！ ye should have fed Not on the books ‘‘extended'' so； But on old Varro's flesh instead！
Alas； that Marcus Varro lives And is a potent factor yet！ Alas； that still his practice gives Good men occasion for regret！ To yonder bookstall； pri'thee； go； And by the ‘‘missing'' prints and plates And frontispieces you shall know He lives； and ‘‘extra…illustrates''！
In justice to the Judge and to myself I should say that neither of us wholly approves the sentiment which the poem I have quoted implies。 We regard Grangerism as one of the unfortunate stages in bibliomania； it is a period which seldom covers more than five years； although Dr。 O'Rell has met with one case in his practice that has lasted ten years and still gives no symptom of abating in virulence。
Humanity invariably condones the pranks of youth on the broad and charitable grounds that ‘‘boys will be boys''； so we bibliomaniacs are prone to wink at the follies of the Grangerite； for we know that he will know better by and by and will heartily repent of the mischief he has done。 We know the power of books so well that we know that no man can have to do with books that presently he does not love them。 He may at first endure them； then he may come only to pity them； anon； as surely as the morrow's sun riseth； he shall embrace and love those precious things。
So we say that we would put no curb upon any man； it being better that many books should be destroyed； if ultimately by that destruction a penitent and loyal soul be added to the roster of bibliomaniacs。 There is more joy over one Grangerite that repenteth than over ninety and nine just men that need no repentance。
And we have a similar feeling toward such of our number as for the nonce become imbued with a passion for any of the other little fads which bibliomaniac flesh is heir to。 All the soldiers in an army cannot be foot； or horse； or captains； or majors； or generals； or artillery； or ensigns； or drummers； or buglers。 Each one has his place to fill and his part to do； and the consequence is a concinnate whole。 Bibliomania is beautiful as an entirety； as a symmetrical blending of a multitude of component parts； and he is indeed disloyal to the cause who； through envy or shortsightedness or ignorance； argues to the discredit of angling； or Napoleonana； or balladry； or Indians； or Burns； or Americana； or any other branch or phase of bibliomania； for each of these things accomplishes a noble purpose in that each contributes to the glory of the great common cause of bibliomania； which is indeed the summum bonum of human life。
I have heard many decried who indulged their fancy for bookplates； as if； forsooth； if a man loved his books； he should not lavish upon them testimonials of his affection！ Who that loves his wife should hesitate to buy adornments for her person？ I favor everything that tends to prove that the human heart is swayed by the tenderer emotions。 Gratitude is surely one of the noblest emotions of which humanity is capable； and he is indeed unworthy of our respect who would forbid humanity's expressing in every dignified and reverential manner its gratitude for the benefits conferred by the companionship of books。
As for myself； I urge upon all lovers of books to provide themselves with bookplates。 Whenever I see a book that bears its owner's plate I feel myself obligated to treat that book with special consideration。 It carries with it a certificate of its master's love； the bookplate gives the volume a certain status it would not otherwise have。 Time and again I have fished musty books out of bins in front of bookstalls； bought them and borne them home with me simply because they had upon their covers the bookplates of their former owners。 I have a case filled with these aristocratic estrays； and I insist that they shall be as carefully dusted and kept as my other books； and I have provided in my will for their perpetual maintenance after my decease。
If I were a rich man I should found a hospital for homeless aristocratic books； an institution similar in all essential particulars to the institution which is now operated at our national capital under the bequest of the late Mr。 Cochrane。 I should name it the Home for Genteel Volumes in Decayed Circumstances。
I was a young man when I adopted the bookplate which I am still using； and which will be found in all my books。 I drew the design myself and had it executed by a son of Anderson； the first of American engravers。 It is by no means elaborate： a book rests upon a heart； and underneath appear the lines：
My Book and Heart Must never part。
Ah； little Puritan maid； with thy dear eyes of honest blue and thy fair hair in proper plaits adown thy back； little thought we that springtime long ago back among the New England hills that the tiny book we read together should follow me through all my life！ What a part has that Primer played！ And now all these other beloved companions bear witness to the love I bear that Primer and its teachings； for each wears the emblem I plucked from its homely pages。
That was in the springtime； Captivity Waite； anon came summer； with all its exuberant glory； and presently the cheery autumn stole upon me。 And now it is the winter…time； and under the snows lies buried many a sweet； fair thing I cherished once。 I am aweary and will rest a little while； lie thou there； my pen； for a dreama pleasant dreamcalleth me away。 I shall see those distant hills again； and the homestead under the elms； the old associations and the old influences shall be round about me； and a child shall lead me and we shall go together through green pastures and by still waters。 And； O my pen； it will be the springtime again！
XIII
ON THE ODORS WHICH MY BOOKS EXHALE
Have you ever come out of the thick； smoky atmosphere of the town into the fragrant； gracious atmosphere of a library？ If you have； you know how grateful the change is； and you will agree with me when I say that nothing else is so quieting to the nerves； so conducive to physical health； and so quick to restore a lively flow of the spirits。
Lafcadio Hearn once wrote a treatise upon perfumes； an ingenious and scholarly performance； he limited the edition to fifty copies and published it privatelyso the book is rarely met with。 Curiously enough； however； this author had nothing to say in the book about the smells of books； which I regard as a most unpardonable error； unless； properly estimating the subject to be worthy of a separate treatise； he has postponed its consideration and treatment to a time when he can devote the requisite study and care to it。
We have it upon t
